Good master; let a little child,
A piecer in your factory
From early morn to dewy eve
Relate a simple history.
Before I came to work for you
My heart was full of mirth and glee.
I played and laughed and ran about.
No kitten was so blithe as me.
When at the age of six years old,
Poor mother pressed with want and woe
Took me one morning by the hand
And said "t'th' factory you must go."
They thrust me in and shut the door
Midst rattling wheels and noisy din.
And in the frame gate made me stand,
To learn the trade of piecening.
I often hurt my little hands
And made my tender fingers bleed
When pieceing threads and stopping flies
And I thought t'was hard indeed.
The overlooker passed me oft'
And when he cried "An end down there!"
My little heart did tremble so
I almost fell with fear.
When at the weary evening's close
I could not keep myself awake.
He sometimes strapped me till I cried
As if my little heart would break.
Oh master did you know the half
That we endure to gain you gold.
Your heart might tremble for the day
When that sad tale must be told?
They say that you grow very rich
By little piecer's such as me,
And that you're going to parliament
To guard our laws and liberties.
Oh when you're there, remember us
While at your frames we labour still.
And give your best support and aid
To Sadler's Ten Hours Bill.